


you’re really something, mark lee

by cosmicheart



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, One Shot, Party, Swing Dancing, Underage Drinking, basically yeah, i didn't think that'd be tag, mark's almost 21 though, renjun is the sweet best friend everyone needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicheart/pseuds/cosmicheart
Summary: Spending the first two weeks of summer sad and wallowing in crumbs, Renjun forces Mark to come to one of the biggest parties in the city—a decade-themed party based on the 1930s. Drunk and fascinated by the swing dancer upstairs, Mark kisses him, but when he leaves he’s unable to get his name.A few days later, he’s tried to brush it off, but can’t stop thinking about the boy in the blue suit he kissed a few nights ago. And better yet, Mark decides to find him.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	you’re really something, mark lee

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this took me a span of 3 days to write so i hope you enjoy it <3

June was an evil month for Mark Lee. 

It was cruel in every single way possible—first starting with his job. He started working at the CD Twist when he was seventeen after he realized he was more into the music world than he realized and needed an outlet to pour himself into. The dingy record shop was the perfect place for him to dedicate himself to, from the stupid name of the store to the humidity in the air, and the smell of lavender incenses in the break room.

It was where he met Renjun, expanded his music taste beyond Billboard’s Top 40s, and overall had his coming-of-age awakening. The CD Twist was sacred in ways Mark couldn’t describe. Then June ruined it. Or rather, stomped all over it with its grimy, hot little sandals stomping it to a standstill. Or, in other words, in June, Mark got fired. 

_It isn’t for any reason regarding you_ , Mark’s boss, Wade, had told him, _we just are running low on money and cuts need to be made. Renjun’s been working longer than you here, and I—_

Mark didn’t really hear the rest. After that, he mumbled his thanks and turned in his name card, and then he went home and cried. It was an unpleasant day, honestly. 

Then, following his new unemployment, not even a day later, he got his grades back. That ended up with him crying again—they were _ugly_. Gross. Horrendous. His mom was going to kill him. Going after a music-related degree was pushing the line, but failing at it, _and_ wasting her money? It was going to be one harsh phone call.

And then the third life-ruining aspect of it all, the one that was the love child of his unemployment and failure as a student; the inconceivable week following where sadness wrapped around Mark like a huge burrito, unable to unwrap. 

So far, he was on day six of burrito sadness; actually wrapped up in a burrito of sorts from layers of his and Renjun’s comforters from their beds. Chip bags and crumbs were complimenting his depression attire, and on TV _Tiny House Nation_ played as Mark was in the midst of falling back asleep into his second nap of the day.

He imagined the idea of buying a tiny house, maybe with Renjun, one that would be mobilized like an RV, but a little tinier. They’d take it on the road and drive to impossible places across the country, to the driest desert, to the steepest canyons. Renjun would probably love it, but complain about how tiny the house was and Mark would argue that’s its sole purpose. Renjun liked open space and—

The door was unlocking then, like he summoned Renjun into their actual tiny apartment. Mark couldn’t bother to open his eyes; his second nap could rave on with or without Dream Renjun’s bickering about their tiny mobile house. 

Actual Renjun pondered inside and put the keys in the key bowl, then gasped at the sight in front of him. By the sound, Mark would’ve liked to imagine Renjun was convinced they’d gotten robbed more or less than the fact Mark trashed the living room himself and had yet to clean up properly today. 

“ _Mark Lee._ ” The former was out of the box officially. “What happened to the living room?”

He walked over to the couch and shook Mark’s burrito configuration, making him open his eyes to his dismay. He stared up at Renjun fuming. 

“The same thing yesterday except…” Mark looked over the room, searching for some kind of key difference. “I actually thought about my problems today?”

Renjun took a deep inhale—something he learned in a year of yoga classes—and counted to ten. Then he looked back down at Mark. “God, I know it’s been hard for you, but this living room looks _disgusting_. It looks frat boy trashed. And we both know how gross that is.”

It _was_ frat boy trashed, Mark noticed. The curtains were crookedly closed; he had way too many chip bags and cookies open, and there were crumbs practically everywhere his eye could see. 

“I’m sorry, Ren. I’ll clean it up,” he said.

“Thank you,” Renjun replied, and he pondered off to his bedroom. Mark hadn’t noticed he still had his bag on with his laptop and such, but he assumed he was unwinding for the day. Renjun spent every day of his life being studious, while Mark wallowed in crumbs and sweat. 

He unwrapped himself from the blanket burrito and stood up. The living room wasn’t that big, but looking at it for too long could make it seem humongous. He rubbed his eyes.

The work process began slowly, like this: picking up all the snack bags and throwing them away because they’d gotten stale (it was okay, Renjun didn’t like many snacks and Mark bought them all anyway), putting back his and Renjun’s comforters back in their respective rooms, opening the curtains to let in the beautiful afternoon sun, and last, vacuuming. 

While Mark was vacuuming, Renjun came out into the living room again, his hair wet like a shaggy dog. He had showered, judging by the towel laying limp around his neck and his mint green robe.

“When you’re done vacuuming, take a shower—we have plans tonight,” he said, then walked back into the hallway leading out of the room.

Mark turned off the vacuum and furrowed his eyebrows. “What? What are you talking about? I don’t have plans.”

“Now you do! It’s depressing to see you lying around in crumbs all day watching HGTV. We’re doing something fun tonight, and I have the perfect idea.”

In his defense, Mark really appreciated the HGTV network and their pretty houses. But that was beside the point—where were they going? Last time Renjun was vague about them having plans suddenly, it’d been a double-blind date Mark would have to rate one of his worst ones ever considering they all got food poisoning from the restaurant they ate at. It was the worst three days of his life.

Mark went back to find him in his room. “Renjun, I’m not in the mood to go on a date tonight. I’m not in the right state of mind to be dating. I can’t even be productive about my day.”

Renjun was digging through his closet, laying out each one of the suits he owned. In his opinion, he thought wearing a suit to a date would overdo things a bit, but he wasn’t here to judge. 

“We’re not going on dates again. This is different. Oh! And also—put on your best suit tonight. Look _defined_. I know you can.”

Suits? Where _were_ they going? Mark attempted to ask, but let the question drop. If anything, Renjun was doing this more for him to lighten up a bit and get in a better mindset concerning his life. 

So he showered like Renjun told him to. He shampooed and conditioned his hair, so he could smell like a walking drop of vanilla the entire night. Wherever they were heading to with suits on, he was sure it’d be useful—vanilla seemed like a fancy smell.

After he got out of the shower, he walked back into his room and collapsed on his bed. Unlike Renjun, who owned a plethora of suits, he only owned two real formal ones. It wasn’t much of a decision; he picked the sleek black one that came with a bow tie. 

By the time he squeezed into it—unemployment made him gain a few pounds, and his pants were tighter than usual—he deemed that he looked nice. As a finishing touch, he slicked his hair back with a little gel. 

Mark stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at himself. He looked _really_ good. Renjun was right; he could look defined. And rich. Both. He looked like he was the son of a huge corporate CEO ready to become even _more_ rich—capitalism handsome. 

“Mark, are you done yet?” Renjun peeked into the bathroom, then smiled wide. “ _Wow_. I knew you could clean up, but you outdid yourself tonight. I mean the suit, the hair, _your ass_. When did you start doing squats?”

Mark smiled. “I don’t do squats. I think sitting around for a week surviving off of junk food made me gain some weight.”

“And it automatically went to your _ass_ ? God really gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers,” he said and stepped into the mirror’s view with Mark. Renjun looked nice too; handsome, but delicate, in a dark green velvet suit that complimented him extremely well. “We look _so_ hot.”

He grabbed Mark’s arm and pulled him out of the bathroom till they entered the living room. Renjun swiped the keys from out of the bowl, then opened the door for Mark to go through first. 

“I already called an Uber for us, like, ten minutes ago.”

And then they were off to who-knows-where, dressed up as fancy as ever. But Mark knew one thing: he was feeling better.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


If Renjun had been vague before they left, he was even more vague as they rode in the Uber together all throughout town, passing their college and the CD Twist, and practically every place Mark could actually afford to shop at.

Wherever they were going, it was in the rich section of town—the section where people owned mini mansions and had multiple indoor pools and gates protecting their houses nine feet tall. 

Mark hadn’t caught the full name of the man’s house they were heading to when Renjun told the Uber driver the address, but it was something along the line of…Jae-something? It was a hard name to configure when they were driving all amongst giant, gorgeous houses that all had enormous fountains in the front. Was owning an angelic fountain in front of your house just something that rich people aspired to do? 

Then, like some fake storybook house drawn from your most wanted dreams or maybe an impossibly rich house you saw once on Zillow, Mark saw the house they were going to. It was an _actual_ mansion, the big brother surrounding everyone else’s mini ones, and the gates were pried wide open as cars piled in through them letting out tons of people dressed just as fancy as them.

Except…different. Different fancy. _Older_ fancy. Women with satin dresses on with feather boas and enormous hats with a giant feather pinned to the top. Longer hair pinned up into an intricate up-do, and shorter hair made into mesmerizing finger waves. It was like this mansion was the door to the past—the gate was a time machine pulling them throughout into some Great Gatsby party with the entire town attending.

“I know we’re at a party…” Mark looked at Renjun who looked just as amazed as him. “But what kind of party _is_ this?”

“You’ll see.” And he smiled like there was something so amusing about it all. 

The Uber driver dropped them off a little past the gate, and they joined the sea of people walking into the house chatting and socializing with each other. The doors leading inside of the house were wide open, and guarding them were two security guards, old-fashioned and everything. Who was throwing this party? 

Renjun pulled him past everyone into the house. Inside it was like stepping inside of a dream; marble, sleek floors with ceilings tons of feet above like they touched the sky. A beautiful chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, like the greatest centerpiece of it all. The grand stairs adjacent to the door leading upstairs. Mark could’ve gasped.

“Wow. Like, _wow_.” It felt like the appropriate thing to say.

Renjun grinned, giddy. “I _know_. I came here a month ago after seeing someone go live on Instagram and I was so amazed. How do you obtain a house like this? And there’s even more than this.”

Renjun led him throughout the front area to a large dining room filled with people talking and drinking. He pointed to the far wall, and there it was; a massive table lined with alcohol of all kinds screaming that they were expensive. Mark’s eyebrows raised up.

“For everyone? What if, like, the police barge in and find out minors are drinking?”

Minors, really, was in terms of him. He was twenty, _almost_ twenty-one, and he didn’t need the cops on his tail about drinking. Not like he drank much, anyway; he was a disappointing lightweight. 

“I wondered about that too, but the guy who holds these, I think he pays them off for the night or something. They’re _all_ dirty cops.” Renjun shrugged. “I think I’m gonna go find a few friends, though, so I’ll catch you later when I’m ready to leave.”

Renjun scurried off and Mark took his shrug as a _go for it!_ in nod to the alcohol table. He only really had drank beer before, maybe some tasteful wines (accompanied with cheese) but that was it. The table was like a goldmine of experimentation. 

So like any other college student would—he drank. He downed alcohols of many varieties (all burned his throat and made him a little more wobbly) and after thirty minutes; he felt like the world was spinning on its axis a little faster than normal. He considered asking if anyone else felt the same way, but he got distracted before he could ask. 

The dining room led into the kitchen where there was an assortment of platter food set out all across the counter and island, fancy and delicious. Mark went over to the island and grabbed a handful of shrimp from a platter. He _loved_ shrimp. Shrimp was _so_ good. He stuffed a bunch of it in his suit pockets for later.

Maybe he could find Renjun. And Renjun could lay him down somewhere with his shrimp and make his vision stop blurring and the kitchen stop wobbling so much. 

He walked out of the kitchen back into the front space before with the chandelier and the massive stairs. He walked up the stairs—slowly, to not fall over and give himself a concussion—until he made it to the second floor. It was also wealthy and grand like downstairs, but more comfortable. There were an assortment of couches spread around and a long hallway to the side, but he sat down on one of the couches next to a couple making out. 

Mark blinked and put a piece of shrimp in his mouth. How was shrimp _so_ good? 

“Everyone, look at them!” 

Somebody yelled loudly, attracting the attention of everyone else in the room. Mark looked over at what the guy was pointing at; in the far corner of the humongous room, a small group had formed around a couple dancing away in some kind of…tango? _No_ , Mark thought. _Not…tango._

As people walked over to crowd around them, he got up to join them. A few pieces of shrimp had fallen from his pocket onto the couch, but he didn’t notice as he joined them on the other side of the room. 

Mark stumbled past a few people until he was in the crowd’s front watching the pair dance. It was a girl and a boy dancing to some peppy piano piece a man was playing a few feet away. Had there been music playing this entire time? 

The couple swung from side-to-side, shimmying hips and smiling at each other like they were dancing some little romance dance. _Romance dance_ , Mark thought. _They’re…swing dancing?_

They _were_ swing dancing—laughing as everyone cheered them on and they moved around like their bodies were made for supporting and swinging each other. Mark had learned swing dancing sometime last year, and he thought the dance was awfully intimate in a way that lovers were. It was a totally fun romance dance. 

The pair finished dancing, though, and bowed as everyone clapped and cheered. The sight made Mark’s head hurt; everything was still turning and moving inward. 

But before the crowd could depart, another couple stepped in, replacing the pair. This time, it was two boys—one clad in a classic black suit like him, but the other in a baby blue one that reminded him of Renjun. Where _was_ Renjun actually? He came up there to find him, yet lost some of his shrimp and ended up watching people dance.

The two guys danced, just like the previous couple, swing dancing amusingly, twisting and turning each other around like some fun game. They switched from foot-to-foot and kicked the air, but Mark noted this couple differed from the last. He was actually sort of entertained by them; they were both cute around his age, but one was catching his eye more than the other. _Blue Boy._

The one in the blue suit moved around aimlessly, like gravity couldn’t hold him down. He shimmied and kicked the air like there was an actual purpose in doing so, going back and forth with the guy in the black suit like they were some dancing Tom and Jerry’s of the party, a game of cat and mouse. Despite feeling like he was about to pass out, or throw up, or maybe both—a smile crossed his face. 

The couple stopped and bowed like the previous pair. They were a little out of breath, but they grinned wildly. Blue Boy had a really nice smile, Mark noticed.

The pair slipped out of the crowd as _another_ couple stepped into the circle, but Mark was already on his way to leave the crowd. He was interested in something else now, or _someone_ else now. 

Blue Boy and Black Suit (that were their new names) slunk out from the crowd to go back downstairs. Black Suit went down immediately, but Blue Boy went over to the couches and looked around for something. 

“Hi,” Mark said, _way_ louder than he thought, which startled Blue Boy. The sight made Mark giggle a little. “Sorry.”

Blue Boy swiveled around to look at him. He squinted, attempting to see if he recognized him, but then stopped when he realized he didn’t. “Hi. Do I know you?”

Mark shook his head. “No, but I—I saw you dancing a few minutes ago. _Swing dancing_. Very fun romantic dance.”

“‘Romantic dance’?” he asked, and a smile broke out on his face.

“ _Yeah_. You were just, like, swing and turning around with your boyfriend all in your own little world with each other. That’s pretty roman— _romantic_ ,” Mark stuttered at the end, and his eyebrows furrowed. When had saying his _Rs_ become so hard? “I think it fits the theme tonight. I don’t—I don’t really know what the theme is, though.”

Blue Boy grinned wide, amused. “The theme is 1930s. That’s why we were swing dancing. And, also, that wasn’t my boyfriend.”

Mark wanted to say, _he isn’t?_ but what came out instead was this: “1930s? This place is—is _way_ too fancy for that. Don’t you know there was a nation-wide depression? This doesn’t seem very depression-like to me.”

That made Blue Boy laugh, which made Mark’s stomach churn with butterflies. “Yeah, you’re right. I think everyone looks nice, though. People really went out—especially you. You look hot, like some weird mob boss or something. Or maybe just the cute newspaper boy you never realized is attractive until now.”

Mark blinked. Blue Boy just said he was hot. _And_ that he looked like some mixture between a mob boss and a cleaned-up newspaper boy. Was he dreaming or something?

“You think I’m hot?” he asked. The words trickled out really lightly, and Mark realized it was the first sentence he said without slurring his words or stuttering. 

Blue Boy grinned wider and nodded. “Very much so. But the real question is, do you think _I’m_ hot?”

“Of course you are. You’re hot in a beautiful way. Like—like very sculpted, but pretty?” It was hard to explain; Blue Boy had golden sun-kissed skin and a face that was round like the sun too. In reality, he wasn’t very blue. He was more like a walking shard of the sun. A compressed bunch of yellows and oranges. 

Blue Boy looked him in the eyes. Mark’s vision was still swimming, and his newfound headache was getting worse, but something told him that whatever was going on wasn’t a drunk hallucination. There was actual feeling lying in the atmosphere.

“Thank you,” he said, and kept staring. 

“Can I kiss you?” The words lept out of his mouth like a dog and a doorbell, but more gentle. It suddenly felt very quiet around them.

Blue Boy nodded and so Mark kissed him. Gentle and soft, like the heavens were watching. Blue Boy’s lips were soft and smooth, and Mark was sure his lips were soft but probably smelled like shrimp (terrible choice, but it was too late) and it was nice. Blue Boy’s nape felt warm in the palm of his hands.

As he pulled away, there was an orchestra of clapping. Not for them, but for the last swing dancing couple who just finished—it was something awfully fictional and unreal. Mark couldn’t stop staring at Blue Boy.

The moment was cut short quickly. Black Suit—who had gone downstairs, but apparently was back—jogged over to where they were, eyeing their closeness, before rolling his eyes. 

“Can you come on? I was waiting downstairs for you, but you never came. Our Uber’s outside,” he droned, then looked at Mark. “If I knew he was gay, _I_ would’ve seduced him first. Good thinking, Duckie.”

Mark blinked and Blue Boy was pulling away from him. He rolled his eyes. “I was looking for my phone at first, but I got kinda caught up obviously.” 

“I have your phone, now come _on_.” Black Suit grabbed a hold of Blue Boy’s arm and began dragging him away down the stairs away from him. “Bye, hot stranger!”

Blue Boy grinned at him as Black Suit dragged him down the stairs, and he waved once they made it to the landing. Even as they disappeared down the stairs and he could no longer see them, he couldn’t stop staring at the stairs trying to comprehend all of what just happened.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Mark woke up the next morning in his bed, head throbbing and all. 

His curtains were drawn open, letting sunlight infuriate his headache even more, and on his nightstand was a glass of water and two Aspirins. _Renjun_ , he thought.

He downed the pills with the water and pulled himself out of bed to thank the boy. Renjun was always the one who pulled him out of parties and drove him home, mostly because he didn’t enjoy drinking, but also because he was caring and selfless towards his friends. He probably dragged him out of the party last night as per usual, considering he couldn’t remember leaving himself. 

Renjun was in their tiny kitchen space that crossed over into the living room pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He spilled a few Lucky Charms as he looked up at Mark. 

“Morning.” Renjun said. “You took them?”

Mark pondered over to the fridge to search for the carton of orange juice. “Morning to you too. And yeah, I did. Thank you for that, because I have a _killer_ headache right now. I should never drink again. I’ll never drink again.”

Renjun crossed behind him and sat on the couch. “That’s a lie.”

“Yeah, that’s _totally_ a lie,” Mark agreed, and pulled the orange juice out from behind the bag of grapes. “But not the thank you part. I am really grateful you pulled me home again. You’re my saviour.”

“As always. But secretly I don’t mind bringing you home drunk from parties. It’s always funny to see you fall on the ground,” Renjun added. “Last night was _super_ funny, though. I found you upstairs laying on the couch with a fuck ton of shrimp in your pockets. What was up with that?” 

_Shrimp?_ Mark thought, confused. But then the night came piling onto him from the beginning; when he started drinking from the alcohol table to after the kiss with Blue Boy and when his memory faded. Did he ever tell Renjun about the kiss?

“There was free food in the kitchen and I guess I took advantage of it and grabbed a bunch of shrimp,” Mark said and got down a glass from the cabinets. “But last night…I kissed somebody, Renjun.”

“Kissed somebody? Ooh, do you know who it was? And how was it?”

Mark thought back on the brief time he and Blue Boy had talked. It occurred to him suddenly that he never got Blue Boy’s actual name. In his head, he was just calling him Blue Boy the entire time because of his suit. 

“No. I was so drunk in my head I kept calling him ‘Blue Boy’ because of his blue suit. And the kiss was delicate—like, just genuinely _nice_. No making out or anything, just a simple kiss. It gave me major butterflies.” 

Renjun gasped ironically. “Wow. Sounds like Mark Lee was in love.”

“I was _not_ ,” he argued, but couldn’t hide the heat rising to his ears as he poured some orange juice. “But he was really cute. And his friend called him Duckie, but I think it was more of a nickname than his actual name.”

“I’m joking, Mark. If it helps, I also met someone last night.” Mark glanced behind him to see Renjun smiling like an idiot. It was an odd sight to see; the guy must’ve been really cute. “While you were getting drunk off your ass, I was in the basement talking to this guy. There was this band playing some jazz music and after they were done with a piece, I complimented the saxophonist and we hit it off. He said he actually was more of a bass guitarist more often than a saxophonist.”

Renjun said it like it was the most exciting thing ever—he was a musician who played not one instrument, but _two_. Mark joined him on the couch. 

“It sounds like _you’re_ in love.” 

“Last night, I could’ve swore I was. We talked for an hour straight and he gave me his Instagram username, but then I realized you were probably passed out somewhere. Which you were, so I had good timing on my part.”

“Did you ever go through his page yet?”

Renjun scoffed. “Of course. I did in our Uber home last night while you were still passed out besides me. It was nothing super intriguing—selfies and pictures with friends, blah blah. But he _skateboards._ And he’s in some kind of makeshift indie band or something. Definitely makes music for the CD Twist.”

Mark smiled a bit at the CD Twist part—that guy probably made really good music. But there was something about the way Renjun was so excited by the fact the guy skateboarded despite the fact Mark skateboarded too and he wasn’t amused by him. (He skateboarded pretty badly, but it was besides the point.)

“Wow. You had a good night then. Can I see his page?” 

Renjun dug around in his pockets, then found his phone. He threw it at Mark to go through willingly and continued to eat his bowl of cereal. 

Mark clicked on Instagram and without even looking too hard, the guy’s user was the most recent in his searches. He clicked on his page. The page had thirty-two posts in total, most of them being him and his friends (which was also his band) and really professional pictures of him at the skatepark skateboarding. He sent the profile to himself—jenooo_lee. 

“He seems cool, actually.” Mark was being honest about it. “I thought he’d be a little lame.” 

Renjun rolled his eyes and Mark threw his phone back to him. “He’s not lame. But he is really sweet. I really like him.”

“Then text him,” Mark retorted. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too early to text him just yet. I have to wait a day or so and play it off like I forgot about him but then remembered our intimate conversation a few days later.” Mark stared at him, confused. “You wouldn’t know. It’s all about the chase. You do the _chasing_ subconsciously.”

Mark wanted to disagree, but it was true. In every guy he liked, he sought them out personally. When he first started working at the CD Twist, he chased after Renjun—or really; he walked. It didn’t take much to get him persuaded, and for a while they dated and kissed and hung out and did everything couple-ly, until they both realized they were better as best friends than boyfriends. 

“Whatever. I hate you,” Mark said, and stood up from the couch. He wanted to lie back down again. 

“You don’t,” he responded.

“I don’t. You’re right. I love you.” 

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Mark spent the rest of the day taking on and off naps. By late afternoon, his headache had faded away and he could be a normal working person again. 

Blue Boy had been a starring role in two of his dreams, like some faraway dream he had when he was a teenager. His first dream was like he remembered their kiss—sweet, tender, and a little surreal. They had kissed longer though, and instead of everyone clapping for the swing dancers, they clapped for them instead chanting his name like some couple on the kiss-cam at a sports game. 

The second dream was much different—and _way_ more unrealistic—because instead of just kissing Blue Boy, he was getting married to him. Their wedding was on a beach, and it was close to sunset, and there were rows of empty guests’ chairs among the altar. Renjun was the minister, and on the altar, Blue Boy was waiting for him, grinning wildly, as Mark walked down the aisle alone. Renjun didn’t say a speech or make them promise their eternal love for each other, but they stared each other in the eye like they did at the party. They stared for a long, long time.

Mark woke up before they could kiss. He felt embarrassed by the whole concept. Why was he having dreams about a guy he kissed at a party?

It wasn’t like he had his first kiss last night. His first kiss happened his freshman year of high school with their foreign exchange student named Jean-Pierre, and only by accident on a dare. Mark surely didn’t have dreams about him after they kissed; so what was so different about Blue Boy?

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Mark woke up the next morning feeling much better than before. Unlike yesterday, he had plans for today—or, more like a concept of a plan that he called his plans. 

It didn’t matter. If it was true about what Renjun said about him doing the chasing, then maybe Blue Boy was the chasee; after all, it seemed nobody knew who he was except for him. Not to mention, they had some storybook moment the other night together in some random guy’s mansion dressed extravagantly and people _clapped_ after they kissed. Not technically for them, but whatever. 

Mark got out of bed and took a morning shower. He washed his hair _again_ to get the dried gel out, and when he got out, he went to his room and dug through his closet for an outfit to wear. 

Sometime in between his search, Renjun stumbled in, sleepy and confused, and collapsed on his bed.

“Why are _you_ up so early?”

Mark flipped through a few shirts. “How early is it?”

Renjun glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. “Eight twenty-six.”

Mark paused for a moment. He had been up since seven? He willingly got up at seven to get dressed to go find a boy he kissed two days ago? What kind of rom-com was he living in?

When Mark said nothing, and kept flipping through his shirts until he found one he sort of liked, Renjun asked again. “Okay. If it’s not a _why,_ then it’s a _who_ . So _who_ are you getting dressed for?”

Mark pulled a shirt out from his closet—a plain white one with a little line drawing of a dog. “Blue Boy.”

“Blue Boy? The one you kissed?” 

“Yeah,” Mark set the shirt on his bed next to a pair of black jeans. “I kept dreaming about him yesterday. Not like dirty or anything, but in one of them everyone clapped when we kissed upstairs, and in the other one we got married.”

“Gay people, I tell you. They kiss each other once and then start planning their weddings,” Renjun tsked, but laughed a second later. “We’re definitely gay people.”

Mark smiled and shed off his pajamas. Renjun didn’t bother to look away—they were close enough to undress in front of each other all the time. 

“I’m going to try to find him today. Or fail miserably,” he responded. He put on his pants. “I feel stupid searching him out like this, but I feel like if I keep ignoring it I’ll keep thinking about him.”

“So what’s your first move to finding him?”

Mark paused before putting on his shirt. He didn’t really _have_ a first move. He just kind of woke up and decided he wanted to find Blue Boy and would achieve that when the time came _to_ making the first move. 

“I didn’t think of a first move.” Mark threw on his shirt, thinking of what could be a lead to finding him. He considered every aspect about that night; he didn’t talk to anyone except Renjun and Blue Boy, which was essentially stupid. He got drunk and ate a bunch of shrimp, which was also stupid. And then he never asked for Blue Boy’s name, which was the biggest stupidity of the entire night. 

“Okay…then think. How’d you even end up kissing him?”

Mark thought about the line of swing dancing couples dancing away upstairs to their heart’s content. “Upstairs, they were—they were swing dancing. This one couple started this swing dancing line like they had planned it, and Blue Boy was one of the dancers. He danced with his friend who I was calling Black Suit because he had on a black suit like I did.”

Renjun frowned at his bad naming of people, but it didn’t last very long. “Swing dancing? That’s interesting. He could be a professional swing dancer, maybe.”

Mark lit up at the idea. “That’s a good idea. Do you think we could look up swing dancing studios in the city? Or dance studios in general?”

“We could…but it’d be too lengthy of a search. You can’t go and visit every dance studio in the city asking around to see if anyone knows a guy who owns a blue suit.” 

Renjun had a point—not knowing Blue Boy’s name made things harder than they needed to be for him. But then it came to him; if the dances were planned and set up for people to watch, that meant they were probably hired. By _who_ exactly? Mark wasn’t sure. Whoever owned that gigantic mansion.

“Whose mansion were we at the other day?”

Renjun’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried conjuring up a name for the owner. “Jaehyun Jung. I know little about him, but I know he’s loaded with money obviously. _And_ he’s only a few years older than us.”

A guy with a house that big and only slightly older? God really had his favorites. 

“Text me his address, and I’m gonna call an Uber.” 

“Will do, boss.”

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Mark would’ve liked to admit he wasn’t nervous driving to Jaehyun’s house again. He wasn’t even sure if Jaehyun—whoever he was, rich or not—would let him in and talk for a little. Didn’t rich people despise the working class or something? 

The ride was longer than he remembered it to be, and to pass the time, he played Words With Friends with Renjun and lost twice. 

  
  


**renjun <3**

  
  


i’m only losing because i’m nervous rn

_9:13 a.m._

no, you just suck at thinking of words

_9:14 a.m._

you don’t think of words anyway!! you cheat and google words

_9:16 a.m._

  
  


Mark _did_ kind of suck at Words With Friends, but at least he wasn’t a cheater. Being a cheater was worse than sucking at a game. It meant you sucked, _and_ you had to break to rules to not suck. 

The car stopped moving, suddenly, which ruined his train of thought. The Uber driver stared at him through the rearview mirror, pointing out towards the giant gate in front of them. “This the place?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Mark pocketed his phone and stepped out of the car towards the gates. They were ten feet tall or so looming over his head intimidatingly. He walked up to the intercom and pushed the buzzer as the Uber drove away leaving him deserted by himself. Not like he was too scared being alone surrounded by cameras from every angle, but if Jaehyun didn’t let him in, he would have to call another Uber and it’d be a waste of money coming up here.

“Hello, who is this?” It was a woman’s voice, prim and dainty, on the other line. 

He pushed the buzzer. “Um, my name is Mark Lee. I came here to speak with Jaehyun Jung—”

“Hold on a second.” The line went flat for a moment and Mark felt like he was being put on hold physically by this woman. The only difference was there was no scratchy elevator music to play in the background. “Okay, I got it Cindy—I think I know exactly who this is.”

It was Jaehyun’s voice instead of the woman’s (Cindy) coming through the buzzer. “Look, if this is Dan again, I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it was never going to work out. You’re sweet and all and amazing at—”

Mark cut him off before he heard something that he didn’t need to. “This isn’t…Dan. My name is Mark Lee.”

There was an awkward pause as the line continued, but Jaehyun said nothing, then cleared his throat. “Oh. Sorry for that. Which part of the city are you with?”

_Which part of the city am I with?_ he thought. Who _was_ this guy?

“I’m with no part of the city. I have a few questions concerning the entertainment at your party two days ago, if that’s okay.”

“The entertainment? Was something wrong with it?”

Mark bit his lip. “Um, no, but I’m looking for somebody who I think you might’ve hired that night who I became very close with.”

The line went silent again for a second or so, then Jaehyun spoke. “I’ll let you come in to explain your situation.” Then the line went flat.

The gates screeched opened a minute later, letting him pass through into the vast front yard just like before. As he walked past, it felt odd being here in the morning with nobody chattering around like him before. It was a huge, lone yard filled with three beautiful fountains and cupid-shaped bushes. When he made it to stairs, the front door opened revealing a short blonde woman smiling at him. 

“Hello, I’m Cindy,” she said, and stuck out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Jaehyun’s assistant.”

Mark shook her hand and let her lead him back into the gigantic front room like before. Also like the front yard, it was large and empty, a weird sight to see compared to the night before. Mark wondered if houses ever got lonely.

“I’m Mark Lee.” 

“He never tells me, but I always ask as an opener line for when I bring guests through. What part of the city are you coming from?” Cindy led him to the right side of the house where the elevator was. “Let me guess…you look like you’re a journalist. The newspaper?”

Mark blinked at her. For several reasons; one being the fact he had an elevator in his house (technically he did too, but he lived in an apartment complex not a mansion), the second being the fact she assumed he was a journalist and from “a part of the city” even though he wasn’t sure what that meant, and the third being her endless enthusiasm and warm smile she hadn’t given up on in the last five minutes.

“I’m not from any part of the city. I just came to ask a few questions,” he said sheepishly.

She smiled even wider, which he thought was impossible. “Oh! That’s fine too. I’ll just show you to his office.”

The elevator dinged open, and they both got inside together. To Mark’s wishes, Cindy didn’t ask anymore questions and stayed quiet as she pushed the number five on the button pad. _He has five levels to his house?_

It was a pleasant, quick ride as they made it to the fifth floor. Cindy stepped out of the elevator first and began leading the way again to Jaehyun’s office. The fifth floor was probably the most beautiful level out of the complete house; the ceiling to the mansion had a massive glass roof that looked far away on the first floor, but so close now that Mark was walking directly beneath it. The chandelier hanging from it that looked medium far away, looked massive now that he could reach out and touch it just past the landing on the stairs.

Cindy passed by the stairs into a very long, huge hallway lined with three doors on each side. At the end of the hallway, two double doors stood open awaiting them. It didn’t take a genius to guess that that was Jaehyun’s office. Cindy led them both inside. 

Sitting behind his desk was Jaehyun, pajama-clad and a mess of tousled hair, like he just woke up ten minutes ago. Mark was sure he probably did. 

“Thanks, Cindy.” Cindy smiled, then left them alone. “And hi…Mark?” Jaehyun stuck out a hand.

“Yeah.” Mark shook his hand. “That’s my name.”

Jaehyun pointed to the cushioned chairs in front of his desk, welcome to guests. Mark sat down; the cushion enveloped his body like a beanbag. 

The man in front of him clapped and leaned back in his desk chair. “Okay. So you’re here wondering about the entertainment at the party I held here the other night?”

“Yeah. I’m, um, looking for somebody? I was here, and on the second floor there was a swing dancing line going on. It was just a bunch of couples swing dancing, you know, and I’m looking for the only guy who was wearing a blue suit out of the couples.” 

Jaehyun—who was staring at him in confusion or blank understanding—blinked at Mark. “Swing dancers? There was a swing dancing line on the second floor—like a conga line?”

“Not _exactly_ like a conga line,” Mark said. “But it seemed so orderly, I assumed you hired them as a part of the entertainment for the night.”

Jaehyun started to sport a slight frown. “No, I didn’t hire the swing dancers. And I wasn’t here the other night either; I had some plans. But Cindy might’ve hired them—hold on,” he picked up his phone and dialed Cindy. Throughout the quiet house Mark could hear the melody of her ringtone. “Hey, for the 30s theme the other night, did you hire any swing dancers? I know I let you hire some more staff that night, but it’s fine if you did… _really?_ Okay, thanks Cindy.” He hung up the phone and the frown reappeared. 

Mark’s gut began to feel uneasy. If he couldn’t get any answers here, he wasn’t sure what move number two was. 

“She didn’t hire them either, sadly. Which means they were probably just a dance crew that came in and put on their own little show for free—I would’ve paid them if they had asked. Swing dancing seems nice.” And Jaehyun also seemed weirdly enthusiastic and unprofessional to be as rich as he was, but Mark didn’t bother to note on it any further. “So, I’m sorry, Mark but I don’t know the group or person you’re looking for.”

But in a split second before Mark could thank him for his time, Jaehyun gasped and clapped his hands together. Mark blinked at him. “Actually! I think I have someone who might know them. The caterer I hired stayed around for a bit after the party and when I got back home later and the party was ending, we talked for a bit and he told me he had talked to a lot of the other musicians and some dancers I actually hired. And then he told me he wouldn’t go on a date with me which hurt my feelings. But that’s besides the point—I have his number and address if you want it.”

The statement was a lot for Mark to take in, but Jaehyun was nice offering him a person who could help him find Blue Boy, and that was good enough for him.

“That would be really nice, actually. Thank you. And sorry he turned you down.” 

“No problem. And it’s okay—I called him back yesterday and we talked for a while. He just has to grow on me.” 

Jaehyun fished a piece of paper from inside of his desk and wrote down the man’s number and his shop’s address. Mark pocketed the piece of paper and thanked him for his time; the weird half an hour he spent at Jaehyun’s gigantic mansion, but still appreciated greatly. 

Even if his first move wasn’t successful, he had a second one to fall back on.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


The address Jaehyun wrote down led him to a restaurant called The Terrific Teacup; a cute, greenhouse-themed eatery that Mark stood staring at due to its surreality of the fact it looked like it belonged on Pinterest. Mark was sure everything and everyone who was posted on Pinterest simply didn’t exist.

Before he arrived, he had attempted to call the number Jaehyun lent him to save time and money. But after it rang for an ungodly amount of time, someone picked up who was very much not the man Mark was looking forward to talk to. In fact, it wasn’t a man at all; a young boy answered and cut him off two seconds in.

“If you’re trying to reserve a seat, you have to physically come in and see what seats are open. We are booked right now. Thank you.” Then he hung up. 

But luckily Jaehyun—also hung up on by a teenage boy twice the other day—offered him a ride to the restaurant free-of-charge, which he couldn’t deny. And now here he was.

Mark walked inside of the restaurant after a moment of staring at the outdoor decor; an array of flower beds beneath the windows. Inside, there was even more of a jungle—hanging plants above the door, fake vines hanging from the walls, and a peaceful, muted shade of green painted everywhere. He walked up to the front counter and smiled at the little cacti plant next to the register.

“Hello, sir. Welcome to The Terrific Teacup, we are filled up right now, but we can take your order and put you on the waiting list.” It was another young boy behind the register—not the one from the phone call, however—and scrawled on his nametag was Chenle. 

Mark looked around; they _were_ filled to the brim. On the side, a few people sat on the waiting booths looking bored or hungry and the rest of the restaurant was occupied with families of all kinds chit chatting away. This place really _was_ popular. 

“Um, no, I’m actually not here to eat. I’m here to talk to—” He paused, trying to think. He hadn’t ever gotten the man’s name; why did he never ask for anyone’s name? “A man who catered Jaehyun Jung’s party two days ago? He referred me to him to talk about something.”

“Oh! You’re looking for Doyoung? Give me one second, sir.” Chenle walked back into the employees only section and Mark was left standing alone at the counter. 

Chenle came back out a minute later with a pissed-off looking man Mark assumed was Doyoung who looked stressed to the core. Mark felt guilt creeping up his spine at the sight.

“Hello, sir. Who are you exactly?” Doyoung asked, and managed a slight smile to show him. 

“My name is Mark Lee and I, uh, went to talk with Jaehyun to see if he hired somebody I’m looking for at his party a few days ago, but he said no.” Doyoung stared at him waiting for the moment he mattered to the story. “And he told me he talked to you since you catered the event and mentioned you talked to a lot of the musicians and dancers there, so you might know who I was looking for.”

Doyoung grimaced, either at his explanation or the mention of Jaehyun, then spoke. “I talked to a few musicians there and maybe a handful of dancers. I wasn’t socializing _too_ much or anything.”

“Did you talk to a swing dancing group, maybe? Or some dancers who’d done a swing dancing routine?”

Doyoung squinted, like his memory of it was in some far corner, then shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I can only remember talking to this one guy—Ten, I think his name was. Amazing dancer, really. He might know him, maybe. A lot of the dancers intermingled with each other.”

“Do you have his number?”

“No, he gave me his Instagram username though. I’ll write it down for you.” Doyoung dug in his apron’s front pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen. He paused before writing—trying to recall the name—but then scribbled it down. 

Mark took the piece of paper. “Thank you. You made _really_ good shrimp at the party, by the way.”

For the first time in their short interaction, Doyoung smiled genuinely, wide, pleased by the compliment. “Thank you.”

Mark retaliated the smile and walked out of The Terrific Teacup. He looked at the time on his phone—eleven thirty-six. Had he spent two hours searching for Blue Boy already? 

He needed a short break. To cool down and think, but also eat; he skipped breakfast that morning, and things weren’t getting along too well in his stomach. 

Mark hoped that the third time really would be the charm in his case.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Eating McDonald’s wasn’t exactly Mark’s greatest quality nor his worst either. A lot of the time, the situation was this: he was hungry, it was close, and it was cheap. Plus, he liked their chicken nuggets and fries. 

So that was where he decided to cool off; a booth in the corner of the fast food place next to the children’s play area where fifteen kids were yelling and tumbling around inside. It was a little loud, but he needed to call Renjun and update him on what happened so far and figure out what to do next. Or give up. Hopefully not give up.

He answered on the first ring. “What’s up? Did the first move with Jaehyun go well? And where _are_ you—I hear kids killing each other in the background.”

“Okay, so, I went there and Jaehyun let me in, but it turned out that he actually _didn’t_ hire the swing dancers and they planned their own routine beforehand. But he gave me the caterer’s number and restaurant address because they talked for a while and the caterer mentioned that he had talked to some of the dancers and musicians Jaehyun _actually_ hired. And so then, Jaehyun gave me a ride to his restaurant—it’s very cute and we should go sometimes—but when I talked to the guy he told me the only dancer he talked to was this man named Ten.” 

Renjun was quiet for a moment comprehending the whole thing. “ _Wow_. So…did you find Ten? Is he murdering kids as a part-time job?”

“No, he doesn’t. Well, I don’t know actually. I hope not. I’m at McDonald’s right now; I was _starving._ And I’m sitting next to their indoor playground, so that’s where all the yelling is from,” he said and glanced back to make sure there were no kids murdering each other. “Ren, I have no idea what to do after this. He gave me his Instagram, but I’m not sure that’ll help my case much.” 

“What’s his username? I’ll try and see if there’s some clues,” he responded.

Mark dug in his pocket till he pulled out the piece of notepad paper Doyoung wrote on. “Um, Ten Lee underscore one, zero, zero, one.”

On the other end, there was an orchestra of shuffling and moving, till Renjun spoke again. “Okay. Sorry. You’re on speaker now so I can talk and search. I looked him up and he’s…a dancer, yeah. He posts selfies and pictures with his pets. _Wow._ Look at this one.”

Mark’s heart sped up in his chest. “What is it?”

“His cat Louis is so cute! And he has a puppy too and her name is _Bella._ Like she’s a southern baby cow or something, oh my god.” 

Mark rolled his eyes. He thought Renjun had actually saw some valuable information. “Can you keep looking? What kind of dance pics does he have?”

“Um…nothing super special. A video or two of a dance practice in the studio today. Wait—he tagged his studio in the location part.” A little more tapping then, “Freesia Dance Studio downtown. The address is 3367 Vision Avenue. I’ll text it to you.”

Mark really was thankful for Renjun in times like these. “Thanks. Do you really think Ten might know him?”

“It wouldn’t hurt—it might actually lead you to him. Or another clue.” Renjun paused, but Mark imagined him smiling. “This is the first time since you got fired you’re actually being productive. Chasing Blue Boy all around town just to…what? Are you asking him on a date?”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. What _was_ his purpose of trying to find Blue Boy? It wasn’t to thank him for the kiss, though he wouldn’t mind doing that. So, really, Mark was tracking him down to ask him on a date. He hadn’t even realized. His guts started churning again; all the possible scenarios of asking Blue Boy came to mind. 

“Shit. I didn’t even think of my motive for finding him. I didn’t even think of what I’d do if I did find him. But…I think I want to ask him on a date. I feel like today wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t.”

“You’re really something, Mark Lee.” Renjun laughed. “Nobody else goes out and searches for somebody they kissed once without really knowing why except for you.”

Mark didn’t have a good response to that other than to smile. It was the utmost truth; he was one-of-a-kind. 

“Go out there and find Blue Boy now.” Then Renjun hung up leaving Mark alone in McDonald’s once again.

He finished his chicken nuggets and fries and then called an Uber to head to Ten’s studio. Something told him that Blue Boy was there somehow, in some way, dancing his heart away and having a good time just like at the party. He had spent the day before searching for him in uncertainty, but now he felt sure about things more than ever; Blue Boy was in that studio. 

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Freesia Dance Studio was quieter than Mark expected it to be. He hadn’t ever really been to any kind of studio before—it wasn’t exactly what he pictured in his mind. Everything was painted a warm, mellow tone of beige and he could feel the vibrations of music from the rooms down the hall, but no actual music.

Mark walked up to the reception desk and shifted from foot-to-foot anxiously. The receptionist—Lola, according to her nametag—looked like Cindy a little bit. Young, pretty, and a smile that looked like it never went away. 

“Hello, sir, are you here to book a time for room?”

“No, I’m—I’m not. I’m here looking for…Ten? I came to ask him a few questions, but I only know he comes here a lot from his Instagram.” It was a little weird admitting he didn’t know him, but was looking for him somehow, but Lola didn’t seem to mind.

“I can’t send you to his space regarding our privacy terms, but I can call him and see if he would like to come and speak with you. What’s your name, sir?”

Mark’s heart hitched in his chest. What if Ten didn’t want to talk to him because he didn’t know who he was? This seemed like his last resort to finding Blue Boy and trying to prove he wasn’t some imaginary stranger at the party. 

“Mark Lee.”

“Okay, hold on,” Lola picked up the phone and punched in three numbers before putting it up to her ear. “Hello, Ten? There is a visitor out here requesting to see you by the name of Mark Lee. If you don’t want to speak to him, I can tell him that.”

Lola nodded and put down the phone after a second. “Ten said he’ll be out to speak with you in a minute.”

Mark let out a breath of relief—he hadn’t noticed he was holding it the whole time. This was good. Ten was accepting to talk to him even though he had no idea who he was. Thank god. 

Ten walked out from the hallway a minute later, slightly sweaty and dressed in black shirts and shorts. He looked friendly enough; Mark felt compelled to stick a hand out for him to shake. 

“Hi, I’m Mark.” Ten shook his hand and smiled.

“I’m Ten. But I think you obviously know that.” 

“Yeah. I—I’ve been on this weird journey all day trying to find this guy from Jaehyun’s party the other night,” Ten’s eyes widened, then nodded. “And even though I was really drunk, I swear that he was a swing dancer. But Jaehyun said he didn’t hire any swing dancers and recommended I talk to his caterer who mingled—specifically, with you—and now I’m here talking to you.”

“Are you wondering if _I_ talked to any swing dancers or if I am one?” A smile played on Ten’s face like he was amused by the story. 

“Both,” Mark said, sheepishly. 

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t a swing dancer. Nor can I swing dance at all, even though I wish I could,” Ten said. “And I don’t think I spoke to any swing dancers either. I was pretty drunk too, but I only talked to Doyoung—the guy who mentioned me—and some people from the band in the basement.”

His heart was dropping by the second. “Did you talk to anyone in a light blue suit?”

Ten’s face scrunched as he thought about it, then he shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you, anyway. I appreciate you talking with me,” Mark said. He felt almost as let down when he got fired two weeks ago; this time he didn’t want to cry, he just wanted to take a long sigh and go plop on his bed. 

“I hope you find the guy you’re looking for!” Ten said and walked back into the hallway.

Mark hoped so too. Otherwise he spent an entire day searching for someone who was impossible to find. Or nonexistent. Hopefully not nonexistent. 

Mark waved to him and walked out of Freesia Dance Studio. He didn’t have a fourth lead going this time—not to mention, he was running out of money to keep spending on Ubers to wheel him around. Maybe he and Renjun should invest in a car once he got a new job. Taking Ubers all the time was money that could’ve been possible gas money for their own car. Renjun’s mom paid for their apartment, maybe she could—

“Excuse me.” A voice cut through his thoughts as he looked up to see the boy. 

In a split millisecond, it didn’t take Mark to realize who it was—Black Suit. Blue Boy’s best friend from the party. The one who wheeled him away and called him a hot stranger. _Him._ The miracle person. Blue Boy’s swing dancing partner. 

“Oh my god.” It was all Mark could get out. “It’s _you_. I’ve been—I’ve been—” 

Black Suit blinked at him, but his face lit up when he realized who he was. “ _Oh_. It’s you. Mr. Hot Stranger from the party. I didn’t know you danced here. Small world, I guess.”

“I don’t! I’ve been looking for your friend all day— _Blue Boy_. I went everywhere searching for him and I thought it was useless, but then _you_ showed up,” Mark rambled as Black Suit stared at him. “I just want to ask him on a date.”

Black Suit grinned, suddenly. “Wait. _Really?_ You want to ask Donghyuck on a date? This is big. Wow. I’m texting him after this.”

Donghyuck. That was Blue Boy’s name. Mark made sure to recite it a million times over in his head like a never-ending mantra. He knew Blue Boy’s name now.

“You don’t have to—where is he right now? Or, if he’s busy, where can I contact him?”

“He works at this weird bookshop smoothie place called the Mango Nook a few blocks away and he works the register,” Black Suit said. “Give me your phone. I’ll type his and mine’s number in there. Mine just in case he’s not into you—I’m single too.”

Mark pretended not to see Black Suit’s wink and handed him his phone. Like he promised, he typed in Donghyuck’s number and his own number saved under the name Jaemin with a little smiley face. 

For the first time in an hour, Mark smiled. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, hottie. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Mark Lee.” He thought about what Renjun had said about him and really being _something._

“Good luck asking him out, Mark,” Jaemin said adoringly, then walked into Freesia Dance Studio. “Bye-bye!”

Mark was alone again, this time almost exceptionally giddy. He couldn’t believe it. He found Blue Boy. He was about to ask Blue Boy on a date. 

No. His name wasn’t Blue Boy anymore. It was Donghyuck.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Mark was here. Standing in front of the Mango Nook about to go ask out Donghyuck. His guts had been churning the whole walk over here—he was surprised the butter wasn’t done yet. 

Mark pushed open the door to the store. Inside, it was an odd set of scenery; rows of bookshelves like a classic bookstore, but the smoothie section in the corner that housed all the tables and chairs. _What a weird place to work at_ , he thought to himself as he walked inside. 

Like Jaemin said, he was there—at the register, looking like he was going to die of boredom at any second. It was undoubtedly him; pretty skin, round face, and his brown hair. Mark could’ve gasped looking at him again. Blue Boy was fake. Donghyuck was real.

He walked over to the counter, each step he took his legs closer to collapsing beneath him. Once he reached the counter, his voice sounded shaky. “Hi.”

Donghyuck looked up at him for a moment, trying to recognize him, then he smiled a little. “Hey. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

_Me neither_ , Mark wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead he said, “I’ve been searching for you _all_ day. I realized I never asked for your name, which was stupid. It felt like a gift from the universe when I bumped into your friend Jaemin.”

Donghyuck grinned even wider; maybe at the mention of re-meeting Jaemin as a gift from the universe. “And he told you my name I’m presuming?”

“Donghyuck.” The name slipped off his tongue easily. “And your job obviously.”

He nodded, obviously waiting for something more than that. Mark knew what they were both waiting on; he said the eight deafening words..

“Will you go on a date with me?” Mark expected it to feel sharp and rough in the air, but it didn’t. It was soft and gentle. Almost like their kiss.

Donghyuck rubbed his chin. “I _mean_ you did say you’ve been searching for me all day, which is sweet. And you kind of implied bumping into my friend was a universal blessing because you could meet me here. And now here you’re asking me on a date,” he stopped the chin rubbing. “I think that’s very date-worthy behavior.”

Mark could’ve fainted at the words. “You’re saying yes.”

“I’m saying yes.”

Mark’s face broke out into a grin. So did Donghyuck’s. And then they were staring and smiling at each other, similar to when they were at the party in the lounge standing alone and gazing into each other’s eyes. It was in that moment, he realized something:

June wasn’t such an evil month for Mark Lee. Because he had met Donghyuck.

**Author's Note:**

> i hoped this was enjoyable! kudos & comments appreciated <3


End file.
